The evening following his interview with Mollie found Cobb in better spirits and more cheerful. He had not seen her since the day before, as she had complained of a slight indisposition and had remained in her room.

Seated in the library of the President, and in his accustomed place—for Cobb came nearly every evening to hear Mr. Craft discourse on the topics of the day, and to narrate, in his turn, the events contemporary with his former existence—he reminded his friend that he had promised to explain the law system of the present day, and to discuss its merits and defects.

“And right happy I am, my dear boy,” returned the President, “to sit and chat with you on these subjects, which, in many cases and under many phases, may strike you as being worthless, absurd, and detrimental to a just definition of the principles of sound common law.”

“You will hardly surprise me by any innovation upon the law of my time,” said Cobb; “knowing, as I do, that the age is progressing. It could not have taken a retrograde movement in common law—not the law itself, but its definition and interpretation in the courts.”

“The laws of the land have been greatly modified and simplified. No longer are the bickerings, snarlings, personal abuse and ungentlemanly conduct of the opposing counsel permitted in the courts. Decorum is strictly observed, and justice—pure, plain justice, as far as it is possible for human minds to discern it—is meted out to the culprit at the bar, the defendant or the appellant in the case.”

“If such is now the condition of your courts and your law, you are worthy of man’s sincere praise and thanks. The farce daily enacted in the courts of 1887 was a disgrace to an enlightened and civilized community.”

“The root of the innovation was the substitution of a plain and simple code of laws for the cumbrous shelves of State and national codes existing during your time. There is now one universal code of laws for the nation, whole or integral. Every crime known to man is laid down fully and plainly, and one, and only one, punishment ordained for the guilty.”

“But does this not work more harshly against those of otherwise good reputation than against the habitual criminal?”

“Possibly. But to avoid that greatest of evils—the giving of different sentences for exactly the same crimes, and committed under almost similar conditions—the universal code was established. Now every man knows exactly the punishment fixed for those guilty of any particular crime. There is no such thing as irrelevant testimony. The desire of justice is to know every circumstance connected with the commission of the crime. Yet limits to the continuance of testimony in certain directions are fixed. The desire now is not to defeat the just endeavors of man to obtain his rights—not to punish the accused because he is accused, but to quickly dispense justice to all. The most radical change in the dispensing of justice is the discontinuance of the jury system in vogue up to 1926—a system faulty in the extreme; a system where twelve men of widely different characters, education, religious principles, and ideas of justice, were expected to each and individually concur in one particular finding, and where a single dissenting voice required the trial to be held again, before a similar enlightened jury, or the accused discharged. In fact, during the jury system, it was the endeavor of counsel to impanel a jury of ignoramuses, a jury of men who had not read of the events of the day, or if they had read them, then of such infantile, idiotic minds as to have reached no conclusion upon the case whatever. That system is obsolete, thank God! Outside of the police courts, which have a single judge who hears and determines the case, and whose powers are very limited, we have the Dom CÖda, or house of justice, in which all cases are tried in which the punishment does not exceed a certain fixed standard. This house is presided over by three judges, and to them is the testimony given, by them heard, and by them is judgment rendered. They are lawyers, and understand the law. Next comes the Gledom CÖda, or superior court, presided over by five judges. Here are heard the highest criminal cases. The Legledom CÖda, or supreme court, is the highest in the State, and is presided over by nine judges. There are Doms CÖda and Gledoms CÖda for civil cases, likewise.”

“But suppose one is dissatisfied with his trial; what then?”

“He appeals it, as formerly; but with this knowledge and understanding: If the higher court finds him guilty, the penalty fixed by the lower court is doubled, provided such a sentence is possible.”

“Humph! I should think guilty people would hesitate about appealing.”

“Indeed they do. It is not often that an appealed case is decided against the appellant; and for the very reason you have advanced, that if guilty, they stand by the finding given in the lower court.”

“Does not this system give opportunities for bribery and jobbery?”

“The opportunities may exist, but the practice is one of the rarest crimes known in the calendar. The punishment for conviction of bribery of, or corruption in, a judge, is life imprisonment in the government prisons; and to the person accomplishing it, a similar sentence; while to attempt it is a twenty years’ offense.”

“Severe punishments, compared with those of former times,” was Cobb’s remark.

“Yes, very severe. But a good government needs and demands a good and true corps of judges to settle, justly, the individual disputes of its people, and to protect them in their lives, liberty and property.”

“I should imagine that the system is very expensive—the salary of so many judges?”

“Not nearly as expensive as the summoning of jurors, their per diem pay, the delays in justice, and the many incidentals of cost in trials in former years. One Dom and one Gledom CÖda serves for 15,000 people. The salary lists are $12,000 and $25,000, respectively; or three dollars per capita to insure justice. The judges serve until seventy years of age, unless removed for incapacity or for commission of crime. The lease of office is thus, practically, for life, the salary high, the honor great, and self-interest makes the man honest.”

“I think it a good innovation,” exclaimed Cobb.

“No doubt you would like to hear of the prison system as it exists to-day; for it is directly connected, of course, with the law?”

“Certainly. I have wondered if there was any change.”

“Each State has its own prison, wherein are incarcerated all convicts whose sentence is less than five years. All others are sent to the government prisons. Of these latter prisons, there are ten, situated in various parts of the country, but all on islands and isolated from communication with the world except by government vessels. The island of Anticosti, in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, is the main Eastern prison; then, there are those of Tiburon, in the Gulf of California; Great Abicos, among the Bahamas; Charlotte’s Island, in the Pacific Ocean, and others. These are prisons belonging to the government, and no convicts are sent to them whose sentence is less than five years. Here are manufactured every conceivable thing needed by the government, and for which it would have to pay cash, did it not make it itself. Great ship-yards, from which are turned out magnificent vessels of war; foundries, in which immense and powerful guns are fabricated; looms and workshops for the clothing of the army and navy; factories for boots, shoes, furniture, ironware, and thousands of other articles that the various departments of the government require. In fact, the manufactured articles are few that the government has to buy by contract. The raw material, however, is purchased and sent to the prisons, and there fabricated into the articles needed. As no convict comes with less sentence than five years, ample time is available in which to teach him such a trade as will give to the government the greatest benefit from his labor. The working system of the prisons is admirable in the extreme. The convicts are well fed and clothed, and required to work a given number of hours, only, a day, depending upon the fatigue of the labor. Good conduct remits four days in each month, or fifty-two days in each year; extra work, when available, is furnished to them, and credited at the rate of the number of hours of that particular service per day, as so many days of their sentence served. This system prevails in all of the State prisons, but, of course, upon a minor scale. In them only such articles are manufactured as are required and used by the State governments.”

“How about pardons from these prisons?” inquired Cobb.

“The President alone has the power of pardoning from national prisons; the governors, from State prisons. At each prison is a Legledom CÖda, and a pardon is never issued except this court has examined the case and recommended it. The Legledom CÖda of each prison also tries all cases of infraction of the laws of the prison, and fixes the punishment for the same. As a matter of fact, few, very few, pardons are given, and then only when it is apparent from subsequent evidence that an injustice has been done a man.”

“What are considered among the gravest crimes?”

“Murder, perjury, rape, receiving of bribes, or giving of same, corruption in office, arson, mayhem, premeditated and willful. These are all life imprisonment offenses, and there is no reduction of sentence for any reason.”

“But does not this convict labor compete with the labor of the masses?” asked Cobb.

“How can it? If the government needs a million dollars’ worth of manufactured articles, one of two courses must be pursued to obtain them: either to buy or manufacture. If they are bought, the people are taxed to pay for them; if they are manufactured by convict labor, the tax-payers save just that amount of money, while a punishment is inflicted upon the worthless class by causing it to labor without reward.”

“True; but in my time the people howled and railed against convict competition. Now, turning from the subject, tell me if there are many labor troubles at the present day.”

“None worthy of the name. A great and just law was advocated, in 1920, by that eminent jurist, Attorney-General William Bean, of Pennsylvania, and passed the next year, that it should be unlawful for any firm or corporation carrying on any manufacture, to accumulate in any one calendar year a profit in excess of twenty per cent. on the actual money invested, and exclusive of that invested in the plant. Full provision was made in the bill for examination of accounts, books, etc. The bill further provided that each person, firm, etc., should regulate the price of the labor employed by them. Then further laws were enacted against combined strikes, intimidation of the employed, etc. It was a wise bill, and has worked advantageously ever since it was passed by Congress.”

“But I fail to see its benefits to the laborer,” dubiously returned Cobb.

“In this way, Junius. Twenty per cent. interest on the money invested is enough to satisfy any man, and cause him to advance capital and embark in manufactures. Now, if the wages of his laborers are fixed by him, he can increase them just as much as his income is greater than twenty per cent.; he must do it or cut down supply. He actually divides the surplus over twenty per cent. among his men. If competition is great and the profits less, he must cut the wages or increase the output to save his percentage; but if he is willing to accept fifteen per cent., or ten per cent., then the wages remain the same as before. But if he desires to cut the wages, it is his right by the law; the laborer may work for it, or not. As a truth, though, wages are better now than ever, while the price of articles has fallen nearly twenty-five per cent. below that of 1920.”

“Are there any laws relating to the holding of real estate?” Cobb asked. “I remember quite an agitation on that subject during the ’80s.”

“Yes; one general law only: no individual not a citizen can hold land in the United States; and no one citizen can hold, in his own name, more than 640 acres, or one square mile.”

“A good and wise law. In my time, vast tracts of land were held by individuals and corporations, both domestic and foreign.”

“It was so until the Bean bill of 1920. One year after the passage of that bill was given to foreigners to dispose of their real estate, and five years given the citizen to bring his holdings within the limit of the law.”

“I think I was informed by Mr. Rawolle that the government owns all of the railroads in the country?” inquiringly.

“Yes, all; and likewise the telegraph system. Furthermore, each city owns its own water supply and electric-light plant. It will thus be seen that the people, and not the capitalist, own and govern the country.”

“What is the rate of taxation—national and municipal?”

“There is no national taxation except on tobacco and liquors. Municipal taxation is really the only burden, if it can be called a burden, which the people bear. That taxation is very low indeed, and is levied under certain equitable laws. The revenue of the nation is derived from customs, liquor, tobacco, and the excess of receipts over expenditures of the railroads, telegraph and postal service.”

“And how about the rates of postage?”

“The rate per mile for railroad traveling is one cent, the rate for telegraphic messages is one cent per word, and letter postage one cent per ounce, throughout the United States.”

“Is the nation in debt?”

“No; the nation owes not a dollar. The last of what we call the great debt was paid in 1979. It would have been paid long before that time had it not been that an enormous outlay was required to gain possession of the railway system of the country.”

“What did you pay for the telegraph system? That must have taken another immense sum.”

“The rights of the sympathetic telegraph system were purchased in 1892, for five millions of dollars, and that system caused all of the surface lines to be abandoned in a few years.”

“The sympathetic system, did you say?” and Cobb showed more interest than he had evinced in the President’s dry recital of the law of the country.

“That is the name of it,” Mr. Craft replied.

“Does it differ much from the Morse system?”

“Many would not understand your question, Junius. You must remember that the system has been in operation for over a hundred years; few persons know any other. Fortunately, I can answer your question, for I have studied the subject. There is practically no difference between the two systems, save in one respect—”

“And that respect is—” interrupted Cobb.

“That there is no wire, metal, or tangible connection of any kind between the instruments.”

“What! no wire! How, then, does the current pass?”

“We do not know!”

“Well! that is very strange! A telegraph system, and its principle unknown!”

“It is just as I tell you. We know how it works, but not why.”

“And was the principle never divulged by the inventor?”

“Never.”

“Surely, he taught you how to make the instruments?”

“Oh, yes; or the system would have been of little worth,” and Mr. Craft smiled at the utter amazement of his listener.

“But I can conceive of no instrument being made by human hands for a specific purpose, unless the principle upon which it was constructed was fully known,” and Junius Cobb shook his head as if doubting the statement of the other.

“The sympathetic telegraph is, however, a manifest success,” continued the President. “It works over miles of country and in every direction, and at each station records the pulsations of the heart of its mate, wheresoever on the face of the earth that mate may be.”

“By whom was this wonderful instrument invented? Surely, his name will live forever!”

“Ah, Junius, you are right! The name of Jean Colchis will—why, Junius! what is the matter?”

Cobb had sprung from his chair as the old name, so dear to him, was uttered. He moved anxiously toward the President, and seized him by the arm, while an expression of hope, of fond remembrance, came into his eyes.

“O, tell me,” he cried. “Tell me of this Jean Colchis! of his daughter! It was he, you have said! There never was but one Jean Colchis! It must be he—my master!”

“Calm yourself, Junius,” hurriedly exclaimed Mr. Craft, as he gently laid his hand upon the young man’s shoulder. “Did you know Jean Colchis?” in a wondering tone.

“Ah! did I? He was my master! It was he, Mr. Craft, who invented the power that brought me to this new life!” Tears came into his manly eyes as he remembered his benefactor and his lovely daughter.

“I know nothing of him,” sadly returned Mr. Craft. “He was, and has passed out of life. He lives now but in history and the minds of the American people.” A dimness came into his eyes as he witnessed the emotion of the other.

“Where is the evidence of his skill, of his ingenuity? Where can I behold the work of his loved mind?”

“If you desire, Junius, you shall visit the great theatre of action of hundreds upon hundreds of his wonderful instruments—the city of America, on the Central Sea.”

Cobb had heard the announcement of his old master’s wonderful achievement in the sciences with astonishment not unmixed with joy.

He thought, now the good old man will have money, fame, and distinction; his daughter, the dear little Marie, would be advanced to her rightful place among womankind, and no longer be hidden in Duke’s Lane, unknown and unsought. Unsought! Then came a feeling of jealousy at his heart. Men would seek the heart and hand of his little fiancÉ. Would they succeed? Would she quickly forget him, and receive with pleasure the advances of other suitors? Then, with a grim smile, he bade his heart have no fear; Marie Colchis was no more. It mattered not what she had done; she was dead to him forever. He would live in the remembrance of her childish yet womanlike love.

It was past midnight when Cobb and the President separated, each to his bed; the latter to slumber, the former to lie in a mournful remembrance of former days and former friends.

The next few days were passed by Cobb as the others had been, in the gaining of a knowledge of the world as he now found it. Much of the excitement caused by his advent had passed; much of the curiosity of mankind in his appearance among them had vanished. He settled down to a life similar to the rest. To Mollie Craft he was kind and polite, but not passionate. He still believed her the magnet toward which fate was drawing him; but he awaited the propitious moment to tell her of his belief, of his love. She was kind and sisterly to him; nothing more.

It was near the first of December that a new face, a sweet, girlish face of innocence and simplicity, came across the path of his life.

Marie Colchester had arrived at the executive mansion as the one dear friend of Mollie Craft during her school-days at Weldon. As she was presented to mamma and papa Craft, she blushed at the knowledge of the deception she was practicing; but she had promised her brother and his fiancÉ to obey their wishes.

A tall girl, with blonde hair, majestic form, round and plump, with eyes melting in their expression of artlessness and innocence, Marie Colchester was one who would easily conquer the heart of a susceptible man. In the parlor they met for the first time, Junius Cobb and she.

“My brother, Marie. Junius, let me make you acquainted with my dear old schoolmate, Marie Colchester. I want you to be the best of friends,” and she moved toward the piano, and listlessly tapped the ivory keys.

“Oh, I am sure we will, will we not, Mr. Cobb?” exclaimed Miss Colchester, with a winning smile. “You know everybody has heard of you, and I feel it a great honor to know one who has lived in two lives.”

For a moment Cobb stood with a perplexed expression, and gazed intently at her; the name had startled him. She raised her face, and met his gaze, then, blushing, dropped her eyes to the floor.

“You do not answer, Mr. Cobb?” she ventured. “Are you displeased at meeting me?”

Recovering himself in a moment, he quickly returned:

“Pardon me. My thoughts were far away.”

“Not very complimentary to me,” with a merry laugh. “But, then, if you will tell me of whom you were thinking, and her name, for I know it must be a woman, I will forgive your ungallantry,” with bewitching naivetÉ.

“Marie Colchis,” he slowly answered, with his thoughts still far away.

“How funny! almost my own name. Now you have aroused my curiosity. Who is this divinity that can hold your thoughts so enthralled when I am near?” and again she laughed as she emphasized the pronoun.

“She was my affianced wife!”

The words came as if from the depths of his heart.

Marie Colchester saw she had touched a tender chord in his memory. Casting aside all semblance of levity, she approached him and laid her white, small hand upon his arm.

“Forgive me,” she said; “I did not wish to bring sad memories to your mind.”

Mollie Craft slyly watched them both, as she stood at the piano, apparently deeply absorbed in the music copy on the stand.

“Good! They will be friends,” she murmured. Such was the meeting of Junius Cobb and Marie Colchester.